


you got me so.

by theadamantdaughter



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Shiro (Voltron), Camboy Lance (Voltron), M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Valentine's exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18015743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadamantdaughter/pseuds/theadamantdaughter
Summary: Lance is a pornstar. Fact. This will be Shiro's demise. Also, fact.





	you got me so.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [softeststarboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softeststarboy/gifts).



> Hi Haley!! I'm sorry I'm so late in posting this... but it was such a joy to write for you. Seriously, I had too much fun that it got away from me entirely. From your requests, I picked camboy!Lance, lingerie, and, of course, bottom!Shiro. I hope you enjoy it! Happy Belated Valentine's Day! <3

        _BABY_BLUE_

The username is inconspicuous enough. It could mean anything, be anyone. The only reason Shiro knows it is thanks to Romelle’s mention. Somehow, despite being four years out of grad school and two years out of touch, they’d picked up their friendship over Instagram recently, diving in right where they’d left off.

Which happens to be chatting about their exes, sharing the occasional sex tip, and… apparently, giving recommendations for porn blogs after the shock and awe at Shiro’s all but nonexistent sex life wore off.

_You’re such a catch, are you kidding me?!_

I’m old and tired, Rom.

_Right. Time to retire, I forgot. Kiss dick goodbye for the rest of your life._

He talked her off the ledge of Tinder, but it required a small compromise.

That’s how he landed here, on the sofa in his downtown apartment, dressed nothing but sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt. It’s quote-unquote _the perfect porn perusing_ get-up: comfy and washable. He dives in with a basic url, **_BLACKKLION,_ **and a rudimentary understanding of the go-arounds for Tumblr’s ban on sex.

At least the blog isn’t hard to find.

The search function doesn’t work. Romelle said it wouldn't. But, Shiro uses her trick and throws the whole site in the line up top.

He huffs impatiently as it searches and loads, not that he has any intentions of getting off in his living room. He finds that time is better spent in the shower. Kill two birds with one stone, or some other stuffy euphemism for unimaginative and boring. All he plans to do uphold his end of the bargain.

Get online. Look around. Report back to Romelle that the guy isn’t his type and–

“Oh.”

The sound he makes is quiet, small; to him, it echoes off the cream walls. Shiro immediately glances around. Lance isn’t due for another hour; Monsters & Mana doesn’t begin until eight.

He’s alone.

There’s no one to see him see _this,_ just the stylish furniture Allura helped him pick and the pictures of the McClain’s that overlook his position. Throwing Veronica a suspicious look, Shiro slouches down among the cushions, hardly better than a child sneaking treats out of sight from his mother, and returns his attention to the computer screen.

A pocket of heat opens in his belly.

The page is neat, perfectly clean. A minimalist white background accents deep, grey font. The italics and bolded words shift to a light blue, and a deeper blue highlights links, wraps around any images or gif sets with crisp lines. It’s lovely, upscale, and well done– he can see why Romelle thought he’d like the blog based on that alone.

But, she must’ve meant the lace… all that black lace. The silk ribbons to compliment it. The sheer cups that show off a pierced nipple and a belly ring.

Hook, line, and sinker. He’s captivated.

He forces himself not to absorb every minute detail of the corset, skimming down the remaining posts on the first page.

The second page is full of pink mesh and brown skin. There are a couple of videos Shiro doesn’t click on just yet. The screen grabs cut off right above a pair of the prettiest, softest lips. _Wait,_ he warns himself. As bad as he wants to rush through an orgasm now, he’s far too inclined by a gifset and thigh-highs. His body responds to the garter straps that dig into muscular legs, pulse stuttering over a frilly belt. His cock twitches with interest at the imagined sound of snapping the elastic on the model’s ass.

He slips his hand into his sweats, absently cups his balls while canting his hips up, grips the base of his dick. The pressure is enough for the moment; that brief touch, he can manage some self-control.

Shiro releases himself, clicking the **About** to learn who he’s getting into bed with.

> Hey, y’all! I’m Blue _._
> 
> Let’s see, um... he/him, I’m 21+, and this blog is definitely 21+ so please seek some parental guidance if you’re a kid. _Haha._
> 
> I’m a Latino grad-student, currently working towards a Master’s in Environmental Engineering. I’m not gonna tell you where I’m doing that or where I’m from, but I love the beach and the sun and I’m going to save the oceans when I grow up. If I’m not here, providing you all quality entertainment, you’ll find me swimming or skateboarding. And often, studying, but that’s not so fun.
> 
> Anyways, have a look around! To your right is my navigation page. It’s got links to all my best, plus some free teasers so you can test out the merchandise before you subscribe. And, if you like what you see, there’s my PayPal and wishlist. You can even join a stream (for a nominal fee)! All proceeds go towards tuition!
> 
> As always, thanks for finding me. Hope to see you live next Saturday night!
> 
> ~ Baby Blue

Saturday?

As if he isn’t suddenly hyperaware, Shiro’s attention flicks to the timestamp at the top of his computer screen. Friday, February 15, 2019, and at the moment, it’s only 6:30. Lance is never home before seven. Which means the subtle decline of his purely academic research, the slow creep of warmth in his belly and balls may very well go answered if he’s quick.

Shiro follows Blue’s direction to Navigation, glances over the many tags and various links, and picks the one that contains Blue’s teasers. He’s taken to an independent hosting site. The video loads in seconds.

And his heat plummets straight for his cock, makes it twitch in his pants.

“Shit.”

There’s no avoiding it now. The lace is a definite turn-on, the welcoming image of the camboy’s firm ass, the caption: _Watch Me Tease Him;_ everything. He reads the tags: _prostate massage, edging, solo, masturbation._ He likes something about that, maybe the privacy of it. Blue performs for everyone, but he does it alone, and Shiro can pretend the show’s catered to him.

He clicks play, realizing this must be a recorded stream. He’s immediately greeted by slim hips walking across the screen, a backdrop of  red curtains from the ceiling, and a bed behind him. Music fills the room, low and smooth, like the man’s movements.

“Hey, lovelies.”

Blue stops in the center of his room, wiggles around in a tiny, white thong. The music increases slightly. Blue dances for a minute or two, showing off different angles of his body. He’s definitely cute. Hot, but– cute. His personality shines through, even with the limited view of only his hips.

He draws Shiro in easily.

“Today’s going to be a special treat.” Blue laughs, slaps his cheek and bends forward. He flashes a rhinestone studded plug at the camera. “Sorry you missed out on the prep.”

He moves lithely toward the bed, all sinuous steps and sensuality. The distance shows off more of him: a sheer garter belt that matches the thong, straps dangling over his ass with little bows on the end. He’s wearing stockings, but they stay up on their own, shimmering in the light when Blue sits on the bed.

“Instead of jumping right into things, I’ll be taking it slowly...” He crosses one leg over the other, leans back on a hand so his neck down to his hips is visible on screen. The other flashes something at the camera, gone almost immediately.

Blue chuckles. “...I like to make things interesting every now and then. If you remember, I had that bluetooth bullet on my wish list?”

Shiro can’t see it, but he hears the lofty smile. Blue’s good at this; he knows it. The level of confidence makes Shiro’s breath come quickly. He exhales, dropping his hand into his pants, again. He tightens his fingers around his cock, but doesn’t touch himself more than that.

He wants to last these seven minutes.

A low buzzing sounds, barely audible and untraceable. Blue turns his back to the camera, knees on the bed as he lays down on his elbows. He’s careful to keep his face hidden behind his body, but Shiro’s attention is drawn to the rhinestone heart in Blue’s ass too quickly to care for what he may be missing.

“Good, _huh?”_ Blue teases. “You like it? My favorite admirer bought it for me. Got it in pink and sparkly.” He arches his back a touch more, his chest meeting the sheets. “And for his kindness, I’m letting him call the shots tonight.” Blue drapes his hand over his shoulder to show off what he’s holding. “My gift from J.”

Wide-eyed, Shiro recognizes it– a silver remote that must control the plug. Blue clicks a button up. Three times. The buzzing intensifies, and those exquisite thighs tremble with his weight.

“Oh, mhm–” Setting the remote down, Blue reaches between his legs, frees his cock from his panties. “So hard just from having it _in_ , and now that it’s on… J, baby, please.”

Somehow, despite his pleas, Blue keeps from stroking himself. He focuses on the plug, plays with the flared end, moaning periodically. There’s no missing the way his body shudders, no mistaking the sheen on his skin, but he’s good. He makes nonsensical sounds, musical in quality. He curses, rolls his hips to pull the plug in deeper, searching for relief. He remains patient, works himself up gradually, cock jerking as the buzz rides a high, drips cum onto the bed every time his hole flutters around the plug’s edge.

Shiro, on the other hand, finds his sanity wearing thin. Already. So quick. He’s done nothing more than cup himself, touch his ass when Blue does. He’s aching.

Working his computer onto the cushion beside him, he loosens up his sweats. Shiro shimmies them down his thighs, tucks the elastic band right up under his balls and squeezes them twice.

_“Fuck.”_

A jolt runs through him, the same electricity sparking in Blue.

“Think I can come untouched?” he asks, and Shiro hears the pleasure lacing his tone, the satisfaction he finds in this submission. “A disappointment for you all, I know… You love watching me fuck myself.” Blue moves his hand away from the plug, digs his nails into a supple cheek and drags them down his leg. He pops the elastic at the top of his stockings, hisses at the sting.

“Maybe J will let me?”

He shifts slightly, knees spreading wider beneath him, balls twitching with every pulse from the plug. His hand runs back up his thigh, over his stomach.

Shiro mimics every move and his fingers curl around his cock. He strokes himself twice, careful and controlled. Then, he stops.

“Yes,” Shiro breathes.

A message pings somewhere off screen and Blue stalls.

“No?” He has the audacity to whimper, to put so much need in the word, Shiro feels a burning coal drop deep in his gut. “And torture them all? Mm.”

There’s a lull.

Shiro holds his breath through it, pumps himself once before squeezing when he reaches the head. Blue seems frozen in place, like he’s debating the merits of listening or pushing his admirer’s patience. Every muscle in Blue’s back coils, his fingers squeeze a little tighter and cum falls in a creamy glob from his cock to the bed.

With a soft moan, Blue lets himself go. “I’ll be good. This once.”

He clicks the vibrator up again, selects a rapid beat that winds up, slows down, hums constantly, and Shiro lets out a frustrated groan.

It’s not fair, totally not fair. Blue’s hitting every single one of his kinks. He’s just playful enough, just bratty enough. There’s flair in every single one of his movements, an attitude that makes Shiro wonder at J, wonder how to find himself in the same position.

What could he propose if he were to buy Blue something? Would he like the tables turned? Like putting himself on top and in charge and plucking at every string that holds Shiro together?

It’s painful. It’s thrilling. He imagines it, imagines submitting to the control and the plug, following Blue up, up, up with the swells in the bullet, rutting helplessly as the buzzing dies down.

Blue grinds on the bed; Shiro grinds into his hand, whimpering quietly as Blue _ooh_ s and _hmm_ s and begs J on the other side of the screen. “Can I–” Blue lungs expand, relinquish their hold with a high-pitched moan. The sound is so pretty, so heavy.

What Shiro would fucking give to be there with him. What Shiro would do to be the one to touch him.

Blue rolls onto his back with a gasp, arms thrown over his face. His body is long and lean stretched out like this. His ribs taper to his waist, to narrow hips, to his dick lying hot and thick on his belly.

“Look what you’re doing to me, J. Look how greedy I am.”

He moves his hand to balls, plays and kneads without permission. Or, maybe he’s carefully testing the limits. He doesn’t touch himself beyond that, despite his cock starting to ache for release, pumping clear fluids onto his stomach. He cleans it up with this fingers, smears the sticky slick around his fingertips and slips that hand between his legs to circle the plug.

“I could come any second. Don’t you want me to come, baby?”

A new message makes Blue sob. “No?”

Oh, that’s hot. Fuck, that’s widely hot.

The indifference J must have, the touch of humiliation. A pink flush covers Blue’s neck and bare chest. He adjusts so his face is hidden by a knee, chases the color down his body and back up.

“Come on…” Shiro whispers. He’s so hard, balls drawn up so tight. He’s hardly touched himself, but his body trembles like it does before he comes. “Come on, Blue.”

He can see it in Blue, too: the urgency, the desperation. The sheen on his skin is now glistening, adding a beautiful richness to his deep brown skin, rippling with the waves that wash over him.

He fists the sheets. He grabs his hair. He thrusts at the air and writhes. “I’m good. ‘M being s-so good.” His fingers make his nipples hard, tug on the silver bar through the left. He leaves trails of goosebumps on his stomach, digs his nails in when he reaches his thighs. “Please, let me–”

Shiro begs with him; begs with the strain in his body, the impossibility it’s becoming not to turn over and rut blindly into the couch.

Patience. _Patience._ He wants to be broken, wants to be bossed around and made to whine for attention and fucked _hard–_

He watches Blue take his cock in a tight, sure grip, watches him pump quickly, desperately, driving his heels into the bed and his cock into his hand.

Heat consumes him. Pleasure coils tight in his belly, then it bursts.

“F-fuck. Oh, my–”

Thick, hot ropes arch into the air, stripe his abs and his chest. One. Two. _Three._ He’s blinded, helplessly stroking the last spurts from his cock as the video cuts to black.

Shiro stares at his reflection in the screen. “Holy shit.”

Every part of him wants to go lax. That post-coital glow, or whatever.

Shaking himself of his stupor, he carefully removes his wrecked shirt, wads it around his sticky hand and cleans up his cock. The sensitivity makes him hiss, then he laughs. How the fuck Romelle nailed this so precisely is beyond him. Shiro credits her own unique interests, or maybe it’s the few pin-up calendars she gave him in college and subsequently _won Secret Santa_ with, but she did it. She got him interested.

He has half the mind to text her about it when one of the images following the video catches his attention.

In a mess of stuffed cupcakes on a bed, **BABY_BLUE** is, most appropriately, dressed in a sky blue baby doll. The delicate straps and lacy cups hug his chest, while the flare of the skirt accentuates his waist. He’s wearing a glittery masquerade mask, has the brightest eyes Shiro has ever seen in his life.

Aside from Lance, maybe.

His attention wanders over Blue’s frame more slowly, to the painted pink nails that tug on a pair of matching panties, silken things that grace his hips. The other hand holds a lollipop towards the camera, flashing a dolphin nestled on the inside of his right wrist.

Clean lines. Blue ink. Simplistic and sweet.

_It is Lance._

_Blue is Lance._

“Oh my god,” Shiro balks.

He immediately battles an odd sense of… protectiveness? _Jealousy?_ No– no, no. It’s protective. He’s sticking with that.

Not that he cares what Lance does in his own room on his own time – and how the fuck did he not know this was going on? He and Lance share nearly everything – but Shiro briefly thinks of Keith and the possibility that this might be some sort of weird prank. Revenge porn? Maybe? That doesn’t make any sense, doesn’t reconcile with the multitude of images and videos and–

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” In his haste to close the image, close _everything,_ he clicks deeper into Lance’s blog.

Right into more images. More teaser videos and artfully nude gifsets.

“Jesus, Lance.”

Shiro adjust his sweatpants and tosses his shirt aside, pulls his computer back into his lap.

It’s not that anything is overtly lewd, no more than it’s designed to be for a _tasteful_ porn blog. Lance obviously means to pique a certain type of interest and… Shiro shifts on the couch, ignores the renewed heat that sinks into his balls… Lance certainly is. It’s the decadence, the flirtation, the effort and thought that go into each and every post.

He’s a tease… but, that’s the idea, isn’t it? Leave hot, burning lust in the bellies of viewers, make the audience want him?

How the fuck is Shiro supposed to keep living with him? His mild, minor, maybe-a-slight-crush is one thing, but this? Even fully dressed, Lance is always one to pull out all the stops. He refuses to do anything halfway, and now Shiro has to contend with _this?_

Haughty eyes, coy smiles. Photo edits meant to hit every fetish, from leather to bondage to girly bows and embellished cock rings.

Lance is popular, and deserves it, given how he hustles for the audience following him. But his popularity means his fans want different things: food play, public displays, a show with his roommate.

_A show with his roommate._

Shiro reads the answer over and over again: **We’ll see, baby.**

He doesn’t dare pay it any mind. Doesn’t dare. It’s a joke; Lance is playing along. Still, a sliver of his thoughts holds on to those words, wraps them up in a whispered _yes, yes, yes_ and prays for it.

**We’ll see.**

Would he? Is he wrong in… wanting that?

It could ruin their friendship, along with any chance he has at ever getting Lance on a real date. Or, it could– No. Nope. He quickly shuts down the idea. He respects Lance. He’s not going to think about Lance.

He’s going to get off.

As in close his fucking computer screen.

Shiro hears Keith, Allura, Romelle, _all of them_ calling him an idiot when he keeps scrolling. Like a moth drawn to flame he studies each picture, each outfit. He notes the dates and the tags, the staging with which Lance meets each request, remembers the wish list and the buyer and the possibility of making his own–

The apartment door slams open.

“Honey, I’m home!”

A typical greeting, as loud and vibrant as Lance is.

Shiro all but throws his laptop.

“Fuck!”

“Okay, don’t use _honey,_ ” Lance remarks, sweeping in with paper bags and kicking off his sandals. “Duly noted.”

“Y-you’re fine. More than fine. _Um.”_ He shuts himself up before he reveals anything damning. Exhaling, Shiro stuffs his shirt behind the throw pillows, double checks that his computer is locked, and shuffles to his feet.

“I don’t mind honey,” he says, swallowing forcefully. It does nothing for the blush flooding his face, nothing to dispel the rubber in his legs.

Lingering orgasmic shock… and Lance makes it all the worse, eyeing his shirtless state with a note of suspicion. Or interest?

Shiro sort of laughs, rubbing the back of his neck as he meets Lance in the entryway. “You just surprised me.”

“Clearly. Watching porn?”

Those blue eyes steal the air right from his lungs, refuse him a single deep breath. He blames the internet. Then, he blames the setting Miami sun as it paints the apartment orange and pink, brings out every singular shade of turquoise and teal in Lance’s gaze.

Shiro forces his attention to the groceries Lance is carrying.

Lance shoves one towards him, leading the way into the kitchen. “‘Bout time you offered. Honey.”  

“Call me darling and I’ll do whatever you tell me.” Shiro tries desperately not to stare at Lance’s ass.

Throughout three years of being friends, he’s always harbored a level of attraction for Lance, but refused to act on it. Lance was in some sort of whirlwind romance with Allura when they first met, and Allura was important to both of them. That ended amiably after six short months, and left Lance looking for a new place when it did. With Keith working as resident assistant through his graduate degree, Shiro offered up the empty room in his apartment.

Naturally, this left Allura absolutely over the moon, as she learned not even a week later about Shiro’s _(miniscule)_ interest in Lance.

Since then and even still, there’s something about Lance that makes Shiro feel so utterly out of his league. He’s bubbly and beautiful, beguiling in every sense of the word. Shiro has scars, an amputated right arm, and white hair; all very premature for thirty.

These insecurities settled in well before stumbling across the porn stuff… Not that Shiro would ever ask Lance to stop something he enjoys pursuing. But now it’s there, nagging at the edges of his mind, all the ways Lance contorts his body, supple curves and elegant lines.

“Fuck, I forgot the milk,” Lance complains, dropping a paper bag in dismay. “Did you grab any yesterday?”

“Oh- I–”

Shiro gawks stupidly.

He knows. How would he know? Is he wearing stockings under those–

Lance stares at him, blinking impatiently. “Are you sure you’re okay? I was kidding about the porn thing.”

“I’m…”

The first step is admitting there’s a problem, right? _Fine,_ he’ll admit that it’s been way too long since he started crushing on Lance, way too long since that crush went from mild to serious, way too long since he’s _had sex._ How can he when his mind is on Lance and only Lance?

Shiro sets his bag of groceries on the counter, intent on pulling his shit together.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’m a little out of sorts, I guess Being scared shitless by some idiot barging into my apartment does things to man.”

 _“Our_ apartment,” Lance corrects. Shiro loves it. “I’ll tiptoe inside next time.”

“Much appreciated,” he smiles.

Opening the fridge, Shiro inventories the various contents on the shelves and in the door, using his hip to hold the door open. He lifts a nearly full gallon, purchased a day earlier.

“You wanted milk?”

“It’s not for me.” The carton trades hands and the two trade places, with Lance returning it to the spot beside the eggs. “It’s for tonight. Everyone will want a milkshake at some point, and I really don’t need a hangry Keith on my hands.”

“That’s sweet of you.”

“I’m always sweet, Takashi.” Lance preens at the compliment, then the rearrangement of yogurt and chicken within the fridge is enough to consume his attention for a second.

Perfect.

Plenty of time for Shiro to drum the top of the fridge’s door, to apply what he’s learned online and reconcile it to the silly, witty, goofy, pretty _dork_ adjusting the bowl of old grapes for the fourth time.

All this time of stealing products from his bathroom, sleeping on the same sofa on movie nights, sharing the same, close spaces. Shiro knows Lance’s mannerisms by heart and Lance has long since memorized his quirks and triggers. It’s a friendship, a partnership… a sort of symbiotic relationship that works for both of them.

So, how the hell was he so clueless? How on Earth did he miss it?

Shiro rubs his hand down his face, whipping up a smile quickly when Lance closes the fridge.

“Will you be around tonight?” Lance asks. “Pyke and Jiro have a bit of unfinished business, if I recall.”

He almost gives in, and god, does he want to cave. Monsters & Mana? Hours of Lance smiling, laughing, and overall, driving the game with his bright imagination? It sounds like heaven. But, a drop of envy swells in chest, mixes with a hint of longing and he knows he keep away for the night.

Bits of him are sad. A lot of him is pining.

Which is totally unfair to Lance… and Lance’s autonomy and privacy.

“I actually have plans with Allura in a bit,” Shiro lies smoothly. He needs to sort through his emotions with someone he trusts, and Allura can be trusted with anything. “Besides, you give me too much grief about the Paladin thing.”

“I don’t think you get _enough_ grief.” Lance winks, passing Shiro by with a nudge to his hip. His heart restarts for the second time that night. “Tell Allura I say hi, okay?”

“Will do.”

“And Shiro?”

He tugs his eyes up from the floor, turns around at his name. Lance is halfway out of the kitchen on the way to his room, looking over his shoulder with a dreamy smile.

“We’ll miss you tonight.”

Shiro captures that moment in his mind.

“Yeah. I’ll miss you, too.”

* * *

He stops for Ben & Jerry’s on the way over to Allura’s place – a penthouse overlooking the coast, befitting of the princess she is. Heiress or not, she would die frozen brownie chunks. It’s his best bet at her forgiveness when he interrupts her Friday night without more than a text to say he’s on his way.

Shuffling the cold paper bag under his arm, Shiro nicks three spoons from the convenience store’s little dining area, then ducks into his car and weaves through traffic until he pulls into the garage under her building.

“Good to see you, Mr. Shirogane.”

Ronaldo waves him right by as soon as the garage’s elevator opens into the lobby.

Shiro gives his customary nod, smiling warmly. They’re something like friends; not so close that Shiro would tell him intimate details of his life, but close enough that Ronaldo has seen pictures of his cat and occasionally pokes him about his long-standing crush on Lance.

Apparently, it’s the one secret Allura will not keep… and yet, Lance somehow remains clueless. Shiro’s grateful for that.

Raymond buzzes upstairs and Shiro slips into the main elevator, giving Allura thirty seconds before he’s let out in front of her double doors. She swings them open, wearing nothing but a black silk robe and a furious expression.

“You know, Takashi, it’s polite to phone ahead when popping over on my Friday night.”

“I did text.” He gives her a cheeky grin. “Either way, I knew you’d complain. I brought ice cream, the fudgey kind.”

“You think that makes up for this?” Allura gestures at herself, at her apartment as the door opens wider. “For all of this?” The lights are dim, the fireplace glows, and Lotor waves stupidly from the sofa, shirtless and sipping from a glass of red wine.

“He’s here to join us, Allura.”

“Didn’t we tell you? Your night of romance and passion is about to get so much better.”

She glares at him. “I doubt it.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Kissing her cheek, Shiro skirts by, ignoring her few choice words for him and her boyfriend as the door clicks shut.

Lotor turns the lights up. Shiro sits down beside him, greedily digging out the pints of Brownie Batter and plastic spoons. He hands one of each off to Lotor, then the paper bag is wadded and tossed behind him. Tearing the lid from his own pint, he sits back with a satisfied hum and a look of innocence as Allura perches on the ottoman across from him.

“Spoon?” Shiro offers.

She tucks her robe in around her legs, cross.

He holds the third pint out to her instead. “Yes? No?”

Allura scoffs at it, then at him. “You did not barge into my evening of–”

“–romance and passion?”

“Exactly!”

“Apologies, princess.”

“No need.” Lotor says. “It was leaning more towards too much wine and a sloppy make-out session.”

Shiro snickers. “Sounds like I saved you then.”

“I don’t know, I could be missing out. It’s been a decade or so since I’ve done something so elementary.”

“Elementary, are you–?” Allura smacks the unused spoon out of Shiro’s hand.

“How am I the one getting in trouble for that?”

“Because I’m not stupid, Takashi.” She shoots a glare in Lotor’s direction, only for those sharp eyes to slice back to him. “You show up like this when you’re upset,” Allura motions at the melting pint held between his legs, “and you only eat like this when it’s Lance.”

“It’s not Lance.”

“And I’m not being cockblocked,” Allura scoffs. “Did he bring someone home? If you need to stay the night here, I can have the guest bed prepared.”

“No, it’s…” Shiro putters around how best to answer. His attention flicks around the posh living space, landing on the hearth and lingering there. “I found Lance online.”

“Like Facebook, or?”

“Tumblr.”

Allura tilts her head. “I didn’t know you had a Tumblr?”

“I just made it,” Shiro says. “I only signed up because Romelle told me about a pornstar I might like.”

Things click for Lotor first. “Oh.”

 _“Oh!”_ Allura is just behind him, eyes widening, though not with surprise.

Shiro looks between them. “You know?”

“Sort of?” Allura shrugs. Her shoulders stay hunched, then a noisy breath leaves her. “He’s been running it since before we dated… I helped him set it up initially. He wanted an easy way to pay–”

“–his tuition,” Shiro finishes. “I know. I read that on his page.”

He lungs forget their purpose, holding on to the little oxygen contained within them until his heart seems bent on exploding. They both knew. Everyone knew except for him. Does that mean Lance has a reason for keeping it from him?

Shiro bites his lip, the question jumping from him anyway. “Is Lance afraid I… that I’ll _be upset_ with him? Did he hide it from me because he–”

“No one knows aside from Lotor and I.”

“I only know because of Allura,” Lotor amends,curling his lips. “Lance doesn’t trust me as far as he can throw me. He certainly wouldn’t trust me with information about how he makes a living.”

Allura shakes her head. “It’s not solely about _trust._ It’s about privacy. It’s...” She huffs quietly, scratching her forehead with her effort to explain. “This isn’t about you, Takashi. You do not get to make it about you.”

“I know that, Allura.”

“Lance isn’t saying he doesn’t trust you. Or that he doesn’t like you, for that matter. This is Lance’s personal life and personal blog.”

Shiro yanks his spoon from its place in the ice cream, another helping piled in his mouth. “I know that, too,” he fusses around the bite, “I don’t like that I’m upset. That’s why I came here.”

“And, you did the right thing.” Allura reaches out, touching his knee. “For someone like Lance, who always worries over what others think of him, what _you_ think of him… this can be difficult to share.” Her gaze is stern, but her tone is tender; coaching him, as opposed to the lecture he deserves. “But you know, now.  Have you thought about talking to him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt him.”

He looks down at her hand, studies the shimmer of gold in her pink nail polish. The color reminds him of Lance, but it seems everything does these days. This discovery only worsens the symptoms.

And he’s getting no relief with the ice cream.

“It makes him feel unattainable, I guess. I’ve had two serious relationships in my life and he’s… a popular camboy?” Shiro snorts. Saying it out loud makes it sound like a fever dream. “I feel ridiculous holding out hope for him.”

“What’s ridiculous is your refusal to ask him on a date,” Lotor remarks.

“This could be the push you need.” Allura agrees with her boyfriend. “Ask him out for Italian – his favorite – and have a little chat.”  

Shiro furrows his brows. “So, pizza and porn?”

“Well, don’t phrase it like that.” Allura rolls her eyes. “None of it needs to be made into a fiasco. Ask him on a date, then gently inform him of Romelle’s suggestion and perhaps, throw in an apology for the mistake.”

“You act like the date’s a guarantee.”

Her smile flickers with mischief.

“Getting Lance on a date will be easy, Takashi. Believe me. I witnessed his puppy love for me… he’s got a lot more going for you.”

* * *

It’s one thing to be bolstered up by two friends he’s absolutely not interested in; it’s an entirely different scenario to drive home with a belly bloated from ice cream and face the subject of his evening’s conversation.

He latches the front door, and instantly, red bleeds down his cheeks.

And Lance? He fucking waves.

“Hey, you made it back in time for a new round. Hunk killed everyone.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I think might just go to–” Shiro tries to back-out gracefully, but he’s cut off by Keith.

“It’s not his fault the Golgothian sloth decided to rampage.”

“It is his fault the sloth got out,” Pidge inserts, righting the game pieces on the board before flicking through her tablet. “We had the thing caged, the mission was almost complete, and what does Lance do?” She glares at him over her glasses. “He pulls a lever and lets the thing loose.”

Lance raises his hands defensively. “Any one of you could’ve done it.”

“True, but none of us did. I think I’ll be a mage this time around. Hunk?”

“A blood elf!” Hunk answers, popping a powdered donut into his mouth and humming around it. “We know Lance will be Pyke again… Keith, it’s your turn to be the Grandmaster, and Shiro, the Paladin is all yours, if you want him.”

Lance holds up the little figurine, grinning brightly. “Come on! It doesn’t get interesting ‘til you join.”

“Seriously,” Pidge says, and fortunately, her retort pulls enough of an argument from Keith and Lance, enough of an attempt to keep the peace from Hunk, that no one sees Shiro stumble over _‘til you join._

He shouldn’t take that heart, but he does. He shouldn’t wonder at Lance’s meaning, if there’s any hidden secret, if Lance might be hinting at something more between them.

And the one thing that keeps floating around in his head... that video: Lance’s legs spread, sheer thigh-highs complimented by white lace, the straps digging into his flesh. His cock hard, leaking cum, flushed a beautiful, deep red. The moans, the low buzz of the vibrating plug; Shiro can practically feel the cum hitting his chest all over again.

**_We’ll see, baby._ **

Please, Lance. For the love of God, please.

“Shiro?” Keith looks at him oddly. “Are you going to sit down or stand over us all night?”

“Huh?” His eyes jerk up from the game pieces. Shiro realizes a second later that he’s standing behind the empty chair, gripping the backrest so tightly his knuckles are white. “Oh. Sure.”

“He’s been weird all night,” Lance says.

“Sorry,” Shiro apologizes, guilt swamping him. “I don’t mean to be.”

Releasing the chair, he rakes his fingers through white bangs, then pulls it away from the table. He sits. A little too heavily, but he can blame that on the glass of wine Allura gave him. Barely. Shiro glances at Lance, who beams and hands over the Paladin. He resolutely ignores the want that flares in his gut when their fingers graze.

Conversations, first. Lust, later.

He bravely takes Allura’s advice to heart and grabs Lance’s attention with a tilt of his head. “Do you think we can talk? After the game?”

“Uh oh, are you kicking him out?” Hunk gasps.

Keith snickers under his breath. “Not surprising.”

It earns him a smack from Lance.

“I’m a wonderful roommate, asshole.”

“He really is,” Shiro says, and he prays his voice isn’t as strangled as it feels, “so, nothing to worry about on his end.” He gives Lance a nervous smile over the table. “It’s more of a… personal type of conversation.”

“Personal?” Lance purses his lips, but nods. His expression quickly shifts to one of victory. “Looks like I’ll be getting that secret Shirogane dumpling recipe, after all.”

Simple as that, Shiro’s smile broadens to a grin.

“Absolutely not.”

* * *

After two more full rounds and a flurry of planning for the following week, Pidge and Hunk head out. Keith stays at Shiro’s request; his drive home is too far for the late hour. He flops onto the couch with a tired groan, and Shiro covers him up with a blanket, surreptitiously digging around for his shirt in the pillows. He promises pancakes in the morning to make up for the horrible inconvenience of having a brother who cares and turns off the lamps.

Another grunt melts into the couch cushion, this time content and edging on sleep.

Shiro laughs to himself, dumping his shirt by the laundry closet in the hall, and waves Lance away from the kitchen sink.

“The dishes can wait,” he says, “unless you want to contend with Keith in the morning.”

“Fair point. I’d rather not.”

Lance wipes his hands dry and follows him out, leaving the front end of their apartment cool and dark.

Towards the back, there’s a half bath, a linen closet stuffed full of those impossible flat sheets, and pictures hung on the walls. Most of them are from Shiro’s trips to Japan, with his grandparents smiling cheerfully beside him. Lance has added a few of his own, but the majority of his personal touches either remain in his room, or they’ve made their way to the kitchen, where they rightfully belong.

With the exception of a few Japanese dishes, he’s always been the better cook. The shelves in his room give away his secret: little recipe boxes full of notecards from Mama McClain and Lance’s abuela, Marta. The careful arrangement of each box, the organization within them so each recipe is easy to reach, shows how much Lance cares for his family.

It makes Shiro smile as he stands in the doorway, leaning against the door jam with his hand in his back pocket.

“You make the chile mocha milkshakes, again?” he asks Lance.

“How’d you guess?”

“They were a hit last time,” Shiro tips his head towards recipe card out of place, “and you still haven’t put that one away.”

Lance quirks a brow. “Observant.”

“Or creepy, but I’ll take it.” He smiles when Lance does the same. “May I come in?”

“No, you wanted to talk, so by all means…”

Shiro pushes off the door jam and Lance gestures at the bed like it’s all his. Of course, Shiro ends up standing at the end of it like a daft idiot, wondering how it is that Lance creates an entire set every Saturday, renders his room an unidentifiable backdrop to such beautiful creativity, only to take it down when he’s finished.

It’s a tragedy, really, and a waste of effort.

He opens his mouth, ready to spoil everything by offering Lance the office space. Fortunately, Lance places a hand midway down Shiro’s back and jerks him from his thoughts.

“You have to tell me what’s going on,” he says. “I’m beginning to think someone’s dying.”

“Only figuratively.”

Shiro’s lips twitch with humor, but Lance’s expression remains curious, if not guarded. Shiro pulls his hand from his pocket and fidgets with his shirt collar, then sits on the edge of Lance’s bed. It helps him to relax, being on a lower, then an equal level. Lance lands on his stomach in the bed’s middle, and Shiro joins him, sprawling out on his back.

“How’s Allura?” Lance asks.

“Good.”

“And Lotor?”

“Considering that I cockblocked him? He was in a pretty chipper mood.”

“Hard to picture him as _chipper.”_

Shiro makes a sound of agreement, tapping his feet on the floor erratically.

Lance stretches for his phone on the nightstand, propping himself up in his elbows as he scrolls through a host of notifications. The website? Shiro tries not to look, but can’t help the path of his eyes down Lance’s toned body, stopping on the swell of his ass. When his eyes slide back up, he finds Lance staring at him instead of his phone.

“You said you had plans.”

He frowns. “What?”

“When you left earlier, you said you had plans with Allura,” Lance explains, looking down at his phone. “I have a text from her, bitching because you surprised them. I don’t care, but if I did something? If you’re that eager to avoid Monsters & Mana? Just let me know next time.”

There’s a stung quality to Lance’s voice, one that makes Shiro soften completely. He can’t putz around by asking Lance out, not when he’s concerned something more serious is happening.

“It wasn’t that, Lance. I wanted to be here.”

He gets a noncommittal grunt in response. “Well, you weren’t, but like I said, it’s not the end of the world. Just let me know before you leave me hanging on half the story we built together.”

“I won’t ditch, again,” Shiro promises, “not on that short of notice. I shouldn’t even need to… I just felt it was better, to process my own feelings, I guess.”

“Your feelings?”

“Yeah, I-” Shiro drums his fingers on his chest, steadying himself. “Lance, I found your blog.”

The phone makes a soft thump on the bed and the blankets rustle as Lance turns onto his side to have a better angle on him.

“How?”

“Romelle,” he says. “She thought I would like your aesthetic, but I didn’t know it was you.”

A momentary quiet fills the room, complete with Lance blinking slowly down at his phone. He taps the screen with a nervous tick, finally lifting his head to look directly at Shiro.

“How much did you see?”

“Not- not too much. The first few pages of posts, or so. Your **About**.” Shiro chews the inside of his cheek. “And one of the teaser videos, with your buyer, J.”  

“Before or after?”

“Pardon?” Shiro blinks at him.

“Did you look at all of that before or after you knew it was me?”

“Both.” He answers quickly and honestly. “I looked around a bit, liked what I saw enough to read about you, and from there, I found the video.” Shiro frowns up at the ceiling. “I recognized the tattoo on your wrist while looking through your photos, and then I went through a bit more… I guess to be sure it was you.”

His confession is punctuated by a sharp exhale from Lance.

Then, silence. Complete and total silence that rings in his ears. Unsure of what to do, Shiro doesn’t move; not when Lance rolls away and onto his back, not when Lance since ups and swings his legs off the bed.

Shiro holds his breath as long as he can.

“I’m sorry, Lance.” At last, the words burst from him, painful from the lack of oxygen. It would be a stupid thing to do to assure Lance that he _liked_ everything he watched, but an apology, he can give. “I really am. I should’ve logged off the second I noticed the dolphin, but I didn’t, and that was wrong.”

“It wasn’t,” Lance says.

“I violated your privacy.”

“You didn’t.” He looks back over his shoulder, blue eyes flicking over Shiro’s face before darting away. “It’s a public forum. I knew there was a risk associated with it.”

“I still feel guilty. Like I… I don’t know.” So far, Lance seems far more uncertain than angry, which makes Shiro squirm like a child on the cusp of punishment. “I didn’t have your permission to be there. I saw way more than you probably would’ve consented—“

“I’d consent to more than you’d expect, Takashi.”

 _Takashi_. There’s no playfulness in it, no teasing. It’s flat and dull and speaks volumes to how Lance is feeling. Uneasy. Insecure. He doesn’t hear a hint of anger, not a single note of betrayal. It’s as if Lance wanted the blog to be found, and wanted hot and heavy lust in response… which makes Shiro feel worse than he did in the beginning.

But this conversation isn’t about him.

It started that way, focusing on his mood. Now, it’s ending with Lance in trouble. Shiro gathers his weight and sits up. He doesn’t touch Lance directly, but he bumps their legs together.

“I had to be honest with you,” Shiro explains gently. “Maybe it would’ve been better to keep it all from you and pretend nothing had changed for me, but you’re not someone I like lying to.”

“And I’d rather not be lied to.”

He smiles gently when Lance glances at him. “I like you too much to do that.”

“Did you like the teaser?”

“Yeah.” Shiro bites his lip to stifle a laugh. “It- uh, it was very nice. I— god, I feel weird saying that, but yes. The whole thing was amazing.”

Lance’s mouth quirks. “You ruined your shirt, didn’t you?”

“How—?”

“It’s a frequent comment: _‘Just jizzed all over myself’_ or _‘You made me come on my boxers, sweats, shirt, sheets,’_ etc. First timers leave those comments most often.”

Shiro’s cheeks. “Wow.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Lance tells him. Some of his color is returning, along with the usual confidence Lance possesses. “I make the videos for others’ enjoyment… and to help pay for school, but that’s only half the fun, honestly.”

“That was half the fun for me, seeing how much you liked everything you were doing. It was genuine. And really fucking hot.”

Shiro focuses on the rug covering Lance’s bedroom floor, tries not to shift with the memory. It’s no use.

“ _Ooo,_ ” Lance coos, brightening immediately. “You really did like it!”

“I told you!” He laughs, and a second later. “This conversation really didn’t go how I thought it would. Or,

how Allura planned.”

“Ah, so that’s why you left.”

“Someone had to talk me down before I did anything worse than I already have.”

“Shiro, you haven’t done anything.”

“I–”

“No.” Lance’s expression hardens instantly, stern in the face of Shiro’s insistent apology. “A guy like you, someone I look up to in so many ways, tells me he found my porn? I wasn’t upset, I was worried.” He swipes hair from his face. “I was sweating bullets, man! Are you trying to make me shit myself?”

Shiro’s grin is sheepish. “This probably would’ve gone better if I’d asked you on the date first, like Allura suggested.”

“A date?!” Lance gawks in disbelief. “You wanted to ask me on a date?”

“I _want_ to, actually. I told you I like you, aren’t you listening?”

His eyes blow wide and vulnerable, mouth opening with silent surprise. “I thought you meant the video…” Lance reaches for Shiro’s hand and asks, “Are you really asking?”

“I am. I can’t believe it’s working out in my favor, but… will you go out on a date with me?”

“When?”

Shiro shrugs. “There’s no reason to wait. How ‘bout tomorrow?”

“I have my–”

“–stream, I know.” He closes his fingers, captures Lance’s between them to reassure him. “What if we did something in the morning? After Keith heads out?”

“What do you have in mind?”

Shiro’s smile spreads slowly.

“Taking you on a shopping spree.”

* * *

“Dillards?”

Lance lifts a brow skeptically, eyeing the bikinis to his left and the start of the women’s clothing section. Shiro taps his nose, gesturing for Lance to follow him.

“I got this idea last night, and I could be overstepping my bounds tremendously, but…” They navigate past the kids and the cards, and Shiro takes Lance’s when they reach the home decor section.

Lance grins mischievously. “Takashi, are you asking me to move into the Master with you?”

“I’m asking you to take the office off my hands.”

“The office? Really?”

“Why not? I’m at Altea Tech more often than I’m at home, and you’re really good at what you do. I think you should have a space of your own, somewhere completely dedicated to your blog.” He pauses, watching Lance gleam with the compliment.

 _Cute,_ Shiro thinks; he’s sure he’s doing the right thing.

Pulling Lance forward, he nods at the curtains and complimenting knick-knacks, pillows, and sheets. “We can find something more quality in the way of a bed frame, but the rest… pick out whatever you want. Here, or anywhere else in the store.”

“Anything?” Lance clarifies.

“Within reason. I probably can’t bolt anything to the ceiling, but we can paint and put up curtain rods.”  

“This has got to be the weirdest first date I’ve ever been on.”

Shiro laughs, “I can take you out to lunch instead.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. It’s a bit like having a sugar daddy.” Lance beams. He sweeps up for a kiss on Shiro’s cheek, then leaves him behind. A smile floats over his shoulder, an invitation lingering in it. “Come on. You can tell me what kind of sheets look good on me.”

* * *

They make it home with several bags each, an entirely new scheme for the office space contained within them. Lance chose to keep the paint as it is: a matte, charcoal grey that provides a warm glow when they string fairy lights through the canopy of black curtains around the bed.

“Will it be weird if I’m home while you do this?” Shiro asks, fiddling with a new camera and Lance’s computer. They’ve left the desk where it is, directly across from the bed. It’s the perfect set-up for the tech. He positions the camera so it has a wide angle on the bed. “I can leave, if you prefer. I don’t care.”

“You’ve been home during streams before,” Lance says, then he smirks. “My viewers heard you in the background once.”

“Doing what?”

“Singing.”

Shiro looks up from the camera’s connecting cords, determines from the sharp grin Lance wears that he’s entirely serious. A little puff of air parts his lips. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s fun to show them bits of my real life, and now they’re all lusting for you.”

“Based on my voice? My singing voice?”

A shrug answers him. “It’s a nice voice.”  

“Huh.” Now, the ask he read when going down Lance’s blog makes more sense, but that doesn’t quell his curiosity entirely. “So... when they ask if I’ll ever join you… it’s all for fun, right?”

Shiro maintains a strict focus on the camera in his hands, tunes into the beeps as he clicks the options and settings, ignores the hammering in his chest. _What is he doing?_ He has the good sense to wonder after he’s asked, but it’s far too late to pretend he isn’t, at least, somewhat intrigued by the idea. The blush spreading down his neck is obvious; he feels it worsening, because Lance has stopped his rustling with the plastic bags and is boring holes through him.

“You mean the _‘show with your roommate?’_ You saw that one?”

“I saw a lot,” Shiro admits, “and definitely zeroed in on that one.”

“Because you didn’t know who I was, and you were curious about the roommate? Or because you knew _you_ were the roommate?”

“At that point, I knew who your roommate was– _Is,”_ Shiro corrects. “That’s why it caught my attention.”

He keeps his eyes on the camera until it’s deposited safely on its tripod, taps the hard plastic casing nervously, and finally pulls his gaze up. Lance is studying him carefully; he doesn’t appear closed off, but his mouth holds together with a look of skepticism.

Like he’s trying not to get his hopes up. Like he’s trying to fight the same rush that builds in Shiro’s stomach.

But when he moves, it’s in anything but a rush.

Lance is slow, torturous and deliberate in his steps across the room. He meets Shiro with a small laugh, reaches for his wrist and grazes his thumb over the soft skin.

“So, you obviously know what I want,” he says softly, walking his fingers up to Shiro’s shoulder, draping his arms around his neck. It’s so impossibly sexy, so devastating to every bit of good sense Shiro has. “What do you want, Takashi?”

He looks up from the full pout of Lance’s mouth, loses the last of his battle when those deep, blue eyes lock on him. Shiro licks his lips, dropping in so close to Lance that he feels their breath mingling, humid in the space between their lips.

The warmth in his belly threatens to burst.

“You. I want you, Lance.”

* * *

“Okay, I know I agreed to this… but I have no fucking clue what I do,” Shiro mutters.

They are minutes away from starting the live feed – Lance’s thousandth time doing so, and Shiro’s first. It shows. His fingers tap rapidly on his knee, he bounces his legs, making the new bed squeak quietly.

“What if I freeze? Fuck, what if I can’t get it up?”

“I don’t know,” Lance says, dropping a bottle of lube on the bed. He stalls there for a second, pondering it, then drifts to the desk. “I usually think about you when I’m having issues.”

“I can see why that might be effective.”

“Wow, cocky.”

Turning from the computer, Lance looks him up and down. He’s obviously pleased by the outfit Shiro selected: a pair of grey joggers and a white sweater. Something to peel him out of, no doubt. To add an element of surprise, beneath it all, Shiro wears a pair of black stockings; no underwear, just a garter and the straps, completely bare for Lance’s taking.

The mere thought of Lance discovering the lingerie makes his body tremble, but Lance chooses to address his nerves. He comes over to the bed, rests a knee on the edge and holds Shiro’s face in his hands.

“First, breathe,” Lance instructs. “I’ve never done a show with someone physically here, so you’re not alone. This is new for me, too.” He brushes hair away from Shiro’s eyes, his touch tender and affectionate. “Just follow my lead… we’ll have fun.”

Shiro lets out a breath, unsteady as it is. “I feel I should warn you, it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. Like, a _‘since Adam’_ while.”

“So, edging you will be too mean, then?”

“Sadistic,” Shiro says. “But I recover quickly, so if you let me come, _then_ edge me…”

“You wouldn’t be opposed.”

“Not at all.”

Lance grins, tracing Shiro’s lips with his index finger. “I do have a pretty cock ring.”

“Whatever you want, babe.”

“We’ll see. I might not like having to wait.”

Shiro leaves a shy kiss on Lance’s fingertip, lets himself appreciate the dark skin on display. Lance chose to forgo a garter and stockings, leaving his long legs wonderful exposed. His ass is bare, too, a red thong low and tight on his hips, partially hidden by the ruffled corset he wears.

Shiro settles his hands in the dip of Lance’s waist, testing the reaction when he squeezes slightly.

He wins a smile, a beautiful one, then Lance tugs free and returns to the desk.

“I’m going to have you start off-screen,” he explains. “When I introduce what we’re doing tonight, I’ll have you come in.” Lance clinks through a few things, and the computer populates with Lance’s site and the chat room. There are already dozens logged in and waiting; the chat pings rapidly when they notice Lance online.

He turns the volume low enough so the notifications won’t be picked up by the mic, and checks on Shiro. “Are you ready, handsome?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t like how his voice comes out strangled, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yes, I’m ready.”  

“So, just by the door…”

“Right.”

Pulling in a deep breath, Shiro pads by Lance and stands just out of the camera’s sight. He’s half-staffed and leaking on the front of his pants, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by Lance. He earns a wink, feels his cock twitch with growing interest.

“At least erectile dysfunction won’t prove a problem,” Shiro laughs.

“No, just blowing a load in your pants.”

He groans at that. Lance taps a key on his laptop and a red light blinks to life on the camera.

They’re live.

Well, Lance is; just as he was in the teaser video, he’s a complete natural onscreen. He dances before introducing himself, swivels his hips and works around until his back is to his viewers. There’s no rhinestone plug to show off tonight, but he bends forward, providing a lovely view of his ass and the tight bulge of his balls.

“Lovelies, thank you for tuning in,” he coos finally, crawling onto the bed lazily.

“Do you like the new set-up? My roommate, the one you’re all so invested in, took me shopping today.” Lance wiggles as comments come in, clearly basking in the piqued interest. “He took me out, let me buy everything I wanted. He even helped arrange everything.”

Lance sits back on his haunches, knees spread for the camera. His hands rest on his thighs, making his chest look fantastic in the corset.

Such a tease. A silly, stunning tease.

Shiro leans back against the door, barely containing a discontent sigh. He’s eager to be brought in now, desperate for the chance to touch him, fuck him, kiss him– _god,_ he hasn’t even kissed him.

That knowledge eats up the nervous energy in his limbs. He’s left with nothing but growing anticipation, heat pumping through his veins, and a fucking painful erection. The soft friction of his silk panties is delicious, but it’s fleeting. He feels needy for attention, grows bold when Lance looks across the room at him.

“Is there any way I can show my appreciation, darling?”  

He remembers. That stops Shiro’s heart.

A smile spreading across his face, Shiro pushes off the door and strides towards him, lets his confident approach be his greeting.

“Call me darling. That’s enough.”

He stops at the end of the bed, looks down at Lance and takes his chin in his hand. A wet, red tongue flicks out over those plush, pink lips, and that’s all the more Shiro needs in the way of permission. He crashes into him, takes Lance in with a moan, licks at the desire written on his lips.

Maybe he’s doing it all wrong– pushing Lance back on the bed, bracing himself on his hand and knees and diving in for a longer, deeper kiss. The taste in his mouth is sweet; the warmth and moisture on his breath, even sweeter. Shiro drinks in the content sounds Lance makes, lets himself be pulled down until his weight crushes Lance to the bed, rolls with it when Lance forces Shiro onto his back, braced over his hips.

His eyes are a bright and restless blue. His chest heaves with every breath.

He looks as hungry as Shiro feels, but he’s stronger than him; better at this. Lance’s hips fall until they meet Shiro’s, and he holds himself up with his hands on Shiro’s belly.

“A little antsy, are we?”

Shiro hums. “Are you not?”

All he gets is a wink, a slow rhythm that Lance works up between them, grinding in measured circles. It’s feels amazing, feels too terribly soft. Lance leans back, palms on Shiro’s thighs. His head turns towards the computer, checking their angle briefly and the window where comments pour in.

Lance laughs smartly. “I bet they think you’re a top.”

“I bet tonight will kill me.”

“That’s the idea. But I’ll be real good to you, love, I promise.” Those blue eyes flash, reduce Shiro to nothing but mush.

But, he notices something in them. With Lance’s following breath, there comes a measured shyness. Lance hasn’t stopped moving, but his hands don’t wander from their spot on Shiro’s chest. He smiles, blushes. His attention wavers between the camera and them.

“Come here,” Shiro murmurs quietly, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Lance fully. The position of Lance’s body hides most of Shiro from the camera, but Lance is the one with so much beautiful skin to reveal.

Shiro traces his shoulder blades to start, making a show of it as pauses at the top of Lance’s corset. He seeks another kiss, slow and languid, sloppy. It matches the pace of his fingers as he follows the silk ribbons down Lance’s back. When he reaches the bow, tied right above Lance’s ass, Shiro circles the little dimples in the small of his back.

The kiss intensifies, open-mouthed and building between moans. He loves those dimples, loves the way Lance ruts in his lap, encouraging his touch.

Shiro lifts his arm when Lance tugs on his shirt, shivers when Lance feels down his chest. There are so many scars, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t shy away like he thought he would.

Maybe it’s that Lance’s confidence rubs off.

“You too,” Shiro tugs on the bow, pausing to ask, “if I’m allowed?”

“Yes, _yes–”_

The ribbon comes undone easily, slipping through Shiro’s fingers and the corset’s many loops. He helps Lance shimmy it over his head, returns his hand to Lance’s back and tests how his fingertips fit in the grooves between his ribs. In spite of Lance’s pleading lips, Shiro tucks his head, sucks the pulse that hammers in his neck.

His gaze lands on camera, directly over Lance’s shoulder. The smile in his eyes is evident. It sends the comments into a flurry.

“I think they like you having a guest.”

“I think _I_ like having a guest.” Lance lifts Shiro’s head, cups his face for a moment. He follows Shiro’s look to the computer, seems to remember the audience. His breath hurries from his chest. “Let’s, uh–”

“Ignore them.”

“What?”

The perplexed tilt to Lance’s chin is adorable. That settles it for Shiro; no worries about the show, no extremes for tips. He grips Lance around the waist and stands, flips them around and puts Lance on his back.

“You heard me,” he says, prodding Lance up towards the middle of the bed. It gives the camera a side view of them. Shiro crawls on top, nuzzles Lance’s throat, nips down his chest. Lance curves beneath him when his teeth catch a nipple. Shiro tugs until he wins a loud gasp.

He releases him, admires the flood of splotchy red on brown skin. “I’m the entertainment, right? For you and them _._ ”

“That’s not usually how…”

“ _Shh._ Angel. That’s how it’ll work tonight.”

He bites hard on Lance’s nipple again, ends his protests with another noisy moan. His lips close and he sucks away the pain, licks at the imprint left by his teeth. He soothes the sting until Lance’s nipple is straining, glistening when Shiro lifts his head.

A string of saliva connects his lips to Lance’s skin. Shiro returns his mouth to Lance’s chest, slurps obscenely and hums as his mouth leaves a wet trail down to Lance’s hips.

“Just me and you,” he breathes, fumbling with the panties Lance wears and his balance. “Help me get these off.”

Their fingers meet at Lance’s hips, linger and squeeze, then he pushes down a side while Shiro tugs the other, pulling the scrap of lace along lean legs, over his ankles, and off his feet. The result is glorious. Lance lays before him, legs spread out and bent at the knees. His cock half hard already, hardening further as Shiro admires him.

He never really stood a chance, did he?

As far as he’s fallen, he falls more. Shiro swallows a dozen things he wishes he could say – not on the stream; maybe when they’re in private with their secrets tucked away – and brushes up the inside of Lance’s leg.

His knees spread wider, allowing room for Shiro to kneel between them. He bows his head and trails kisses up Lance’s thigh, right to the junction of his hip. That beautiful cock twitches; his breath hitches. Shiro leans on his elbow, his hand curling under Lance’s leg and flattening on his belly.

Shiro looks up before washing his tongue over Lance’s balls.

 _God,_ how great it is that he did.

Lance lifts off the bed, covers his mouth as a burst of sound leaves him. His heels dig into the mattress and Shiro does it again, laps and licks and sucks gently until Lance’s cock is hard and leaking. There’s no reprieve for him; Shiro adjusts his position so he can reach Lance’s cock, pumps from base to tip before swallowing him.

“Oh.”

The sound is heavenly, a sweet melody in Shiro’s ears.

He closes his eyes, hums his response, bobs his head and showers Lance with attention. It must be new to him, to have such treatment lavished on him when he’s always responding to the beck-and-call of the viewers. It must be unique, to be the center of attention for no other reason than Shiro would love to see him come undone.

He can taste it. _Almost_. The salty-sweet dripping from Lance’s cock and coating Shiro’s tongue. He can feel it. Lance quakes above him, holds his breath between slow licks and grabs at the sheets, at his chest, at Shiro’s bangs when he swallows his cock again. His skin glistens with sweat. His mouth rarely closes unless Lance fights a moan by biting his lip.

He’s painfully on edge. He’s–

“Stop,” Lance begs. “I’m gonna come, please.”

When Shiro refuses, Lance pulls his hair.

“Next time,” he promises, short of weeping. “You can suck me off all you want next time… but right now, I want you.” He releases a breath, the tension in his body fades as Shiro slows, then unwinds his hands from Shiro’s hair when he lifts his head. “God.”

Lance runs his thumb over Shiro’s swollen lips.

“Take off your pants. Trade spots with me. On your belly.”

Shiro grins, already off the bed and on his feet. “Yes, sir.”

“Sir?”

“You like it?”

“I do.” Lance props up on his elbows as Shiro makes quick work of his fly, follows the path of Shiro’s pants down his legs. Every hint of amusement in his gaze fades behind desire. “I think I like this more.”

He turns over, up on his knees. The bed shifts as he crawls toward Shiro, quiets when he stops within arm’s reach. Lance touches his legs with careful admiration, almost tentative as he feels around the tops of the thigh-highs. The lightest touch follows black, elastic straps up to the belt to Shiro’s ass.

And his eyes drop to Shiro’s cock. “You really are as gorgeous as I thought.”

“So you do picture me, then?”

Lance gives him a look, a refusal to admit anything more on the subject. A blush colors his nose and cheeks.

“Give them a look at you,” he instructs, coaxing Shiro towards the camera

He slides to the edge of the mattress right behind him, his front flush to Shiro’s back. Lance’s hands never leave his body, almost covetous of all the skin and the scars on ready for the taking. His fingers play at Shiro’s chest, slide across his belly and down his thighs, drag back up.

Lance rests his chin in the dip of Shiro’s shoulder. On the screen, Shiro sees Lance studying him. “Do you want me to touch you?”

His cock jumps at the faintest brush.

“Yes.”

Lance flirts with the cut lines of Shiro’s hips. “Will you come if I do?”

“No.” He sounds desperate. “I won’t, I promise.”

Shiro clenches his fist, nails digging into his palm. The pain isn’t enough to distract from the torment of Lance’s mouth on his neck. His touch blazes a dangerous path. Closer, closer– “Shit.” Shiro slides his fingers into Lance’s hair, jerking at the first, tight pump. “Shit, please.”

“Patience,” Lance purrs, stroking him harder; faster.

“I can’t.”

“No?” Lance releases him.

 _Dammit._ But, it was too much, too intense. The break is needed; Shiro comes down from the edge. Lance returns with a shallow caress, tracing Shiro’s length all the way to the tip. He gathers what he can of the cum dripping from him.

“I did promise not to edge you…”

He taps Shiro on the shoulder to turn him around, makes Shiro and the audience watch as he sucks his finger clean.

“ _Mm,_ God, babe.” Lance smacks his lips, head shaking slightly. “You didn’t tell me you tasted like that.”

“Not as good as you.”

Lance balks. “Oh? Fine. Next stream will be Who Can Swallow the Other’s Load Faster,” he laughs, returning his touch to Shiro’s hip.

It’s a silent command to lay down on the bed, one that’s immediately obeyed without a single complaint. Perhaps, he’s overeager; maybe it shows. Shiro can’t bring himself to worry about it. Lance has his hands on his back, has his fingers under the garter belt. He pulls it back and lets it snap.

“Yes,” Shiro hisses.

Lance bends forward to kiss away the sting. His hands slide down the outside of Shiro’s thighs, nudge them wider. Shiro listens, resting his head on his arm, torso pressed to the bed.

He lets out a keening moan when Lance blows on his hole. “Please. Please don’t make me wait.”

The first lick is warm, impossibly warm. It sends a chill right up his spine, coaxes indecipherable sounds from Shiro’s throat. His tongue is like velvet, soft and slow and lackadaisical. He makes his rounds, teases the muscles as Shiro shudders, pushes the tip just inside. He always pulls away when Shiro rocks back, meets the shift by digging his fingers into Shiro’s sides.

“You said it’s been a little while, yeah?” Lance kisses his cheek.

“A long while.”

His hands leave. Shiro can hear him fumbling across the sheets. A plastic cap opens, closes… fingers replace Lance’s tongue, prodding at places left untouched for too long. With his other hand slicked up, Lance strokes Shiro’s cock.

“We’ll get you nice and open,” he promises, “all ready to be fucked.”

Shiro nods. “God, please.”  

A finger slips inside him, makes him feel wonderfully full until it's gone too soon. Another comes this time, two instead of one and Shiro tears at the sheets.

“Good?” Lance asks.

He can’t speak. He works backward, moves his hips to take more of Lance’s fingers in his ass. That’s all Lance needs to keep going. He meets Shiro’s thrusts, each and every one. He curls his fingers deeper until he has Shiro groaning, gasping– but the pleading is what he wants.

The pleading is when Lance slicks his cock, when Lance adds another helping of lube to Shiro’s hole, when a hand pushes Shiro flatter and the other holds his hips in place. He sinks into Shiro carefully, stretches him with such excruciating tenderness that Shiro wants to scream.

Fuck. Harder. _Now._

He turns his face into the sheets to keep from moaning Lance’s name, forgets his own when Lance bottoms out.

Lance sets a smooth pace, and Shiro’s so glad he waited, so thankful he didn’t rush this. The build-up is exquisite, the full draw back that allows him to savor every inch of Lance’s cock; the quick thrust forward that fills him up to completion. It stirs something in him, a forgotten feeling of connection and want. It’s more than a quick fuck or a desperate rut– Lance listens to him, touches him, responds when Shiro does and showers him in praise.

Their speed quickens, turns to nothing more than restless groans and the sound of skin meeting skin. Shiro’s forced down on the mattress, his body flat except for the slightest curve to his back. He lifts his ass to meet every one of Lance’s movements, taking that beautiful cock as deep as he can, tightening, clenching, trembling around it.

“I’m gonna come,” he moans, finding Lance’s hand in the mess of sheets. “Let me, please. Baby.”

Lance thrusts harder, thrusts messily and without reason.

He dips his head, meeting Shiro in a kiss.

“You can come, darling. Come for me.”

The release, the heat of Lance spilling inside him, it’s all he'll ever need.

* * *

The moments following are quiet, peaceful.

Lance leaves at one point to wearily wave goodnight and turn the camera off. He tells Shiro about a fortune in tips, but he sounds much happier to be pulled onto Shiro’s chest and collapse under the sheets. In return, Shiro rubs his back, hardly able to believe any of it is real.

“You think you’ll like being a regular feature?” Lance asks after a while, a thoughtful hum in the question.

“Is this your way of asking to do the boyfriend thing?”

He laughs, adopting the same tone he had in Dillard’s. “Is that your way of asking me to move into the Master suite?”

"God just using me for the nicer room, huh?" 

Shiro pulls his fingers from Lance’s hair. They drift without aim, following the apple of his cheek until Shiro his holding his chin gently. He leaves a soft kiss on Lance’s brow, his nose, then his mouth. A smile forms when he settles on the pillow again.

“I suppose we’ll be busy tomorrow… making room for all your shoes in my closet.”

Lance giggles as he slides closer, burying a grin in Shiro’s neck.

“Sure sounds like it to me.”

 


End file.
